


Fear of Disappearing

by statichearts



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-09-24 05:26:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9705275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/statichearts/pseuds/statichearts
Summary: "Do the difficult things while they are easy and do the great things while they are small. A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step."Two boys. Two lives lived parallel to the other. It starts where all stories do: at the beginning.





	1. we've only just begun

Ian is four.

It’s blizzard season through the greater Chicago area and the three Gallagher children are huddled in the back seat of Frank’s old Ford Taurus. The heater’s broken, causing the glass to fog over and Frank tries fruitlessly to wipe it away with streaky wipers and a blunt dangling from the corner of his lips. Fiona is ten and she hasn’t taken her eyes off their father for the last half hour. Ian doesn’t understand what she’s waiting for. A particularly chill wind whips through a crack in the window and she wraps an arm around Ian before he even gets the chance to shiver. 

Lip is six and from the other side of Fiona, he draws spirals in the frost, looping them until they reach the top of the glass. He stopped seeking Fiona’s comfort a while ago. Ian remembers the two of them yelling; Lip telling her he wasn’t a baby anymore while tears rolled down his face. He thinks it was the last time mom was ever around. One of Lip’s gloved hands curl around the fabric of his jacket, pulling it tighter around his body and Ian swears he can see his brother’s teeth chattering from where he is. 

Abruptly, the car comes to a halt along the side of the road and Frank whips his head back, his pupils full blown as he stares at his children. “Out. Come on. Get on with it. Out. Out.” His voice isn’t authoritative. It’s more rushed and panicked. Ian has heard it a thousand times before. Fiona and Lip probably a hundred times more than that. His sister pushes on his shoulder gently and Ian’s small hand is gripping the door handle, pushing it open. He’s suddenly knocked by a rush of cold air that contrasts with the warmth of Fiona’s presence just behind him. He doesn’t recognize this place but then again, he barely remembers any place that isn’t home. 

Lip joins them on the other side of the car while Frank rolls down his window and gestures to his eldest. “Be back in an hour, gotta take care of some business.” A smile turns up Frank’s face, no guilt even remotely in his expression as he leaves his kids on the sidewalk. Ian doesn’t even flinch but Fiona – Fiona glares after their father as he slowly pulls back out onto the street. He’s out of sight before the cold really hits any of them.

A worn out wool glove loops around Fiona’s fingers and she sighs, squeezing Ian’s hand while simultaneously trying to pull Lip closer. “He’ll be back.” If she’s trying to sound convincing, it doesn’t work. Lip lets out a tiny huff and a ‘yeah, right’ before going over to a snow bank that flanks the road. Ian thinks about following him but decides against it when Fiona’s hand tugs him along. She slips her scarf off and sets it down on the ice, releasing Ian’s hand so she can gesture towards it. The boy takes the hint and plops down, Fiona taking the seat next to him. The only sound around is the crunch of Lip’s boots on the snowfall as he kicks it up in circles.

“He’ll be back, Ian. I promise,” Fiona attempts again, this time breathing it out into the void in front of them. The snowflakes swirl by her face as Ian peers up at her, her nose a light purple and her hair blowing against the side of her face. He can only nod, reaching up to bump the tip of his own nose as the cold nips at him as well. 

The last time Frank left them was a month ago. Only for an hour like he promised but it was only because he forgot the $20 he had stashed in Ian’s coat. Not that Ian understood. He had thought maybe his father was just happy to see him. 

An hour passes and Lip has since stopped stomping around and instead taken to lightly pacing just behind the pair of them. Fiona hasn’t budged an inch though her nose is now considerably more purple, the color creeping up the tip onto the bridge. Ian has a small snowman built to his left, his best work yet if you ask him, and his mittens are soaked to the bone. The scene oddly describes the Gallagher siblings perfectly. 

“He’s not coming,” Lip mutters under his breath - the tail end of his words get caught in the wind. 

Fiona’s attention quickly diverts back to him and she scowls, the expression strange on such a young girl’s face. “Stop that.” She barks back at him. “You don’t know that.” 

The two soon start a bickering match that’s all too familiar to Ian. He’s learned to ignore them by now and their voices slowly fade into the background. His cheeks are slightly frost bitten, tinged red by the persistent wind and it causes a warming sensation to crawl upwards toward his eyes. He’s felt the numbing sensation before of cold so he pays it no mind. But then it finds him. In stark contrast to the cold, an abrupt wave of heat flares up and into the right side of Ian’s face, engulfing it in pain. It feels like it had when he ran into a door trying to run away from Lip during a game of tag. 

Like someone or something had just hit him. 

The small boy suddenly wails, grabbing the side of his face with his frigid hand and even that has no effect on the pain that’s seeping into him. What he does feel among everything else, is the way his cheek starts to raise like the beginnings of a bruise. 

“Ian? Ian, what’s wrong?” 

The fight between his siblings, halts and Fiona’s voice is laced with panic at the sound of her brother’s sobs. She crawls over to Ian with no hesitation, cradling his body in her arms. Her maternal instinct kicking in as it always had. She takes hold of Ian’s hand, shifting it away from his face so she can get a better look while tears run freely down his cheeks. Ian doesn’t catch the surprise that appears on her face as she sees the damage. He doesn’t see the confusion in Lip’s. He only continues to cry, his sounds echoing off the pavement. 

“It hurts, Fiona. It hurts.” His sister gapes at him for a second, thoroughly in shock but the kind that kicks in adrenaline.

Fiona grasps him by the shoulders, urging him up. “I know. I know. Come on, can you get up for me?” 

With one hand, she waves at Lip to get his attention and the boy kneels next to Ian, taking his other side. Their combined hold on him, makes Ian able to stand up though he rests most of his body weight against them. As far as the eye can see, the street is empty except for the rogue car that zooms by, most likely not even noticing the three kids.  
Ian feels Fiona’s hand shivering against his body and it’s the universal sign of fear. The three of them stand there, feet sinking in the snow, for only a few minutes though they pass like hours to Ian. Both of his older siblings stare in all direction, as if someone will show up to rescue them – as if their dad might actually save the day this time. The wind howls back at them instead and Ian lets out a whimper of pain, breaking Fiona out of her daze. 

“That’s it.” She mutters, mostly to herself. The small girl lifts her youngest brother in her arms and angles her head down the road. “Come on. We’re walking.”  
Lip can only nod and he hurries after her as Fiona starts trudging her way through downtown Chicago. She makes a comment that the nearest clinic has to be within a mile or two but neither Lip nor Ian knows if she’s remotely close to right. As they slosh through the snow, every car that passes appears like it may stop but none do. At most, the driver slows to a snail’s pace and stares at the three of them before roaring past again after seeing the sight of Ian cradling his own head in his hands. 

It takes them half an hour but they eventually get there. Each one of them shivering to the bone, hungry, and pained but it’s more than they tend to expect.  
Lip holds the door open for Fiona and she walks directly to the front desk, Ian clutching at her coat with one blue toned fist. 

“I need someone to see my brother. Right now.” 

The woman at the desk doesn’t seemed fazed to see children at the clinic on their own, much less so by how adult Fiona sounds in that moment. Her eyes flicker from Fiona’s stern glare to Ian’s tear stained cheeks and she nods slowly, getting up from her spot. The sick that litter the clinic waiting room all seem to voice their disapproval at the same time and the woman tells them all to ‘shut the hell up. They’re kids’ as she pushes open the door to let them inside. 

***

It's nearly 4pm and all Ian can really recall is a doctor shuffling around him, checking in his ears, mouth, and eyes without a single word. His hand grazes over the bruise now on Ian’s cheek and he sighs, snapping off his gloves and tossing them in the trash. Something in Ian’s belly stirs and he’s more confused now than he was when the pain started. His young brain makes him think the worst, that he’s dying, or sick but no one tells him anything when he whines, asking what’s wrong. The doctor leads Fiona out of the room, her eyes going to Ian briefly before following him and Ian wishes he can see through walls. Or at least, hear through them. 

Whatever it is, he knows spying is bad so he kicks his feet back and forth, sticking his tongue out to try to touch his nose. It’s been ages since he’s been in a doctor’s office and he wonders briefly about what his dad will say about what happened. If he’d be mad at him. 

With his thoughts all over the place, Ian barely notices the voices getting closer again after a few minutes. It’s only the click of the door that has him sliding off the examining table, bouncing a little on his heels. Fiona’s half smiling face peers in, the doctor long gone. “Good news, buddy.” She announces, chuckling a bit strangely. “You’re all good. Says something probably fell and hit you and you didn’t notice but you’re fine.” Fiona reaches for his hand, leading him out to where Lip is waiting for them. “I told you, didn’t I?” She nudges him gently with her hip and Ian peers up at her with a toothy grin, his free hand brushing over the lump on his cheek. 

“Yeah, that’s good. Doctors are way scary.” Ian cheers up at the sight of Fiona’s smile. He knows that if she’s not worried than he has no reason to be, though a tiny part of him wants to throw a thousand questions at her. He reaches up to tug at her sleeve – about to voice one of them when Lip pops up out of his chair, a Highlights magazine tucked under his arm. 

His siblings start talking among themselves as they head back out into the snow, something about finding somewhere to stay, and Ian tags along as usual, trying fruitlessly to ask the questions that roll around in his brain. Barely an hour later though and the situation might as well be forgotten for the four year old, who now has a cinnamon bun in hand – all thanks to Lip’s excellent begging skills. The incident is merely a blip on his young childhood, soon to be filed away into the recesses of his memory.

It is three days before any of them see Frank again. The time having gone by in a blur. Fiona had managed to find them a shelter to stay in for a night, the other two spent at a neighbor’s who actually felt bad for them. 

It was almost relatively normal. 

The car Frank pulls up in, isn’t the one he drove off in but none of them open their mouths to ask as they stand in a similar position as to where he left them – on the sidewalk in the middle of the snow. Rolling his window down, their father lets out a harsh cough into the winter air and motions towards his eldest. “How much money you got on you?”

And the cycle starts over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been so nervous to post this for about the last month when the idea hit me. It might not make sense right now but it will. All in due time. Honestly, I’m not even sure if anyone will read this BUT it’s my baby so be gentle.


	2. for the first time

The stomping ground for most Southside kids is the playground.

It’s where dozens of kids would flock during recess at the local elementary school; building sandcastles, throwing rocks, or like one Mickey Milkovich – terrorizing his peers.

Being the youngest boy in his family, Mickey always knew he had a lot to live up to. His brothers had all had the same influence over their classmates, the same intimidating stare and family name that kept people running. In short, no one fucked with the Milkoviches. It was easy for him to assert his dominance. Mickey had a steely expression for an eight year old and the heart of a fighter, a habit that was too hard to break and his father certainly encouraged.

Today, mid-September, the air was crisp and hints of the fall season fell down in waves around them, collecting in piles of leaves for kids to jump through. Mickey in particular, stomps through a particularly large one, kicking up dirt as his sneakers dig into the earth. He spends most of his time like this.

Alone.

That was the problem with trying to be the tough kid and ending up the bully – no one ever wanted to be your friend.

Stumbling his way out of the pile, Mickey brushes off his worn jeans and tugs on the sleeves of his hand me down sweater with a grunt. Around him, hordes of kids have collected in their respective cliques. Mostly by age but some by family, next door neighbors, whoever had been living there the longest – it made sense to them.

He half runs over when he spots it - the sandbox where other kids his age are building sandcastles as high as they can, dirt in their shoes and halfway piled in the grass. Mickey stands on the farthest corner of the box, towering over them all with a grin and his arms crossed over his chest. He seems much older than he is, seen much more than any of them could know. A bit of sand goes flying, having been kicked up by the toe of his shoe and flies directly in Angie Zago’s face, causing her to squeak.

“Mickey! That hurts, jerk.”

The children of this part of Chicago started to develop the same language as their parents early, no one batting an eyelash. The girl rubs at her eyes, grabbing a fistful of sand and chucking it toward the boy’s face. It ends up catching in the window, whipping off in the opposite direction.

Mickey smirks and jumps off from his pedestal, aiming directly for Angie and smashing her castle between his soles. The other kids in the sandbox don’t move a muscle, most of them know better. Speaking up usually costs them their lunch or any change they have hidden in the recesses of their pockets.

“Oops. Looks like you’re gonna have to start over, Ang.” Mickey only hears the girl’s shrill scream in frustration as he steps over her and through the rest of the sand, knocking down other castles in his wake. When it was one who had to suffer, no one says a word. When they all have to face the same fate, a roar of disapproval comes from the small space – all directed toward Mickey. It was not unlike the stigma the Milkovich family carried. The way most of the Southside barely addressed them as humans at all.

As he walks away from the scene, Mickey reaches down to pick up the remains of a branch that’s crunched under his shoe. He whips it around like a sword back and forth as he wanders aimlessly, eyes scanning around, searching for someone to bother. Some way to pass the time. As if on cue, from the opposite side of playground, Mickey spots a familiar duo – from a family that is almost as infamous in the Southside as his own.

Ian follows after his brother like a puppy, the tips of his sneakers practically grazing Lip’s heels.

Everyone at their school knows how close the pair are. The protective nature of the older boy on his seemingly meek little brother. It annoys Mickey to no end and as a kid, he can’t help but prod. He can’t help but want to poke the people that are smaller than him just to see what would happen, what kind of effect he would have.

Somewhere near the swings, the two stop and Lip puts a hand on Ian’s shoulder, leaning down as if to tell him something. From this distance, Mickey can’t see what Lip could possibly be saying. He can only read Lip’s hand gestures and the way his brow furrows together. The older boy points off to a group of kids from the same class as Ian and it’s easy to tell what he’s trying to say.

Mickey almost wants to laugh.

Ian peers up at his brother with a frown, his lips pushing out and he opens his mouth to speak but Lip is long gone, quickly joining his friends to whoop and holler among the leaves. The red head just stands there, head hanging and shoulders heavy. He stands there and Mickey is already moving, a twinkle of something flickering behind his expression.

Mickey remembers seeing Iggy bullying a kid for the first time. His brother was barely taller than the other guy, thinner too yet the way he hovered over him, Iggy might as well have been a giant. He used his intimidation to seem more important, to scare people into staying away from him. A black eye later, Iggy told Mickey that he had to demand respect in the Southside as soon as he could get it. It didn’t matter that he was barely in the third grade – the Milkoviches only had their strength to hide behind. No one else understood them. No one else was worth trusting. Mickey reminded himself of that when the yelling started, when the battle moved to his own house.

Crunch.

Another branch breaks under his shoe and Mickey snaps out of his daze just as his hands collide with Ian’s shoulders, knocking the younger boy back a few steps.

“Hey!” Ian barks back quickly.

For a second, Mickey isn’t sure the voice even came from the same person, the strength behind it off putting. Ian straightens up and there’s a hint of fear in his eyes, a fraction of defiance. His hand has gone to his chest with his fingers curling just above his heart. There’s a pause and Mickey spits in the dirt, not wanting to seem flustered by the kid.

“Hey what, huh? Spit it out, Gallagher.”

Mickey pushes at him again, hands square in the middle of his chest, this time with more force.

“You shouldn’t get in people’s way.” Mickey mutters angrily.

Ian stumbles once, twice, until his feet slip. His own steps tug on the worn out, untied laces of his sneakers and he’s soon flat on the ground, his elbow catching on the edge of a rock. Ian yelps almost instantly and his hands goes to the back of his arm where the slightest bit of blood has sprouted.

Mickey should have found the scene hilarious.

But the boy is too distracted by the sharp sting that rises up the back of his right arm, radiating in a singular spot. His brows furrow in shock and he reaches to touch the area, only to pull back to find the tiniest bit of blood on the pads of his fingers. His eyes immediately go to Ian, who has started to stand and brush off his pants. He seems seemingly unphased while Mickey gapes in confusion.

But the pain – it fades almost soon as it arrived and as he looks back down at his arm to find nothing, Mickey is almost sure he just had a moment of crazy. Not that he has time to dwell on it. He never has a chance to do much.

“Mickey Milkovich!”

A shrill voice calls out from the school building flanking their right side and to Mickey, it’s nothing if not familiar. Turning to her, Mickey opens his mouth to say something but his teacher is quick to block his chance.

“Oh no you don’t. I saw you push him. Come on. Inside with you.” She takes him by the sleeve of his shirt, her heels clacking on the pavement as starts to lead him back inside. Mickey takes the chance to take a peek back at the aftermath, Ian now being hovered around by some of the other kids and Lip, always to the rescue. He’s leaning down again, his expression almost the same as it was earlier but now Mickey can hear exactly what he’s saying.

“When I meant talk to someone, I didn’t mean Mickey Milkovich, Ian.”

He practically growls under his breath as he hears Lip muse his worries to his innocent little brother. The latter of which doesn’t say a word, not that Mickey can hear.

“There’s a reason he’s got no friends.”

A scoff and he’s tuning them out. Like he’d ever hang around a Gallagher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for how long it took me to update. The last month has been something else but hopefully the updates will be a little bit closer together from now on. For those of you who commented or left kudos, thank you so much. It really means a lot. 
> 
> if you want updates on the story or have any questions, you guys are welcome to follow me on twitter @xgoldendays


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